Fragments
by House O' Bones
Summary: Two literally star crossed lovers are confronted with a surreal and difficult truth: they were nations. But what really didn't help was, one: they remember nothing of being said personification and two: one just happens to be a superpower with the enemies and responsibilities to qualify and they were supposed to hate each others' guts. Romerica Nation!AU Haitus
1. Chapter 1

_The original had been deleted from fanfiction last night. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. The file from my Word Document had recently been a bit revamped since it was published so that maybe, I could kill my perfectionist tendency to 'clean up' my 'firsts' down a notch when I was a couple chapters ahead to do so. I hope you guys enjoy the story. _

_Summary: Two literally star crossed lovers are confronted with a surreal and difficult truth: they were nations. But what really didn't help was one: they remember nothing of being said personification and two: one just happens to be a superpower with the enemies and responsibilities to qualify._

_I do not own Hetalia._

* * *

_1_

The ever constant tip tapping of his mechanical led pencil was beginning to grate on his frazzled nerves, his cerulean eyes gazing down in thought at the blank sheet of spiral notebook paper and a stack of discarded notes stashed underneath a manila folder waiting to be opened in hopes of becoming a best seller. They were interesting plots to fabricate a good crime thriller or maybe even a romance novel, but they didn't have that 'umph' he was looking for. None of those ideas, no matter how interesting, just didn't seem to grasp his attention as his previous books had. He sighed in frustration as he settled back into his chair, running a tanned hand through his blonde hair.

"I need a break from all this.", he muttered. He settled back again to glance at his work once more before heaving himself off his comfortable leather chair and stumbled toward his kitchen.

He needed a break for once, if he didn't get his fill sooner or later - he swore he was going to tear those useless works to pieces and burn them personally in his chimney with a cup of his beloved coca cola and some leftovers from last night's Italian dinner. The shrill scream of his home phone sounded through the quiet kitchen a top a counter with the caller ID flashing green into his sore eyes. He rubbed them with the heel of his palm slowly as he picked it up.

"Alfred F. Jones speaking.", he mumbled tiredly into the speaker. Alfred could distinctly hear the squeals of young children and the wind colliding with the speakers as the other person on the line attempted to move to a quieter area.

"Alfredo? Are you alright? You sound like some idiot ran you over with their truck or something.", the other replied. Alfred perked up slightly as he ran a hand of his face to rid himself of his fatigue.

"Oh, I'm fine, Lovino! I kinda got carried away again." A sigh emitted from the other line.

"Take better care of yourself when I'm away, idiot. So, I was wondering if you could pick up some lunch for us and something to entertain the kids while you're here.", Lovino replied. Alfred heard the other man shuffling through what he could assume was his office. Probably organizing through his filing cabinet out of sheer habit.

"Sure thing. Hey, will it be alright if I read my new manuscript to them? I want to see if it'll appeal well enough to the younger audience." Alfred heard the cell phone bump against something and the rustling of papers.

"Alright, but just don't try to poison them with your weird 'Tony the Alien' short story.", Lovino threatened. The blonde pouted briefly, he thought that the story was a hit. But then after having reading the book to the youngsters, Lovino had received complaints from their parents for feeding their children's wild imaginations or 'rubbish' as what one British mother had said.

"So how has your day been so far, 'Vino?", he asked. Alfred could see the other flushing pink in his mind's eye on the other line as his skilled fingers made their ways towards the buttons of his cardigan and hazel, emerald speckled, eyes darted over to analyze certain items in the room to distract himself from the affectionate nickname. He glanced over at the recycling bag filled with all sorts of sealed plastic containers filled with what he could guess was some last night's cooking spree. He smiled warmly as he gazed down at the phone's cord. His Lovino always 'forgot' things as an excuse to call him over.

"I'll be there in-", he glanced at his watch, "-fifteen. Are you on break right now?"

"Of course I'm at break, I wouldn't be calling if it weren't." Alfred held the receiver in between his shoulders as he hopped on one sock clad foot to slip on his blue converse. He grunted an affirmative as he slipped the other shoe on with less difficulty.

"See ya, 'Vino. Don't tell the kids I'm coming over, I want it to be a surprise!", he exclaimed excitedly. He grinned from ear to ear as the other muttered explicatives in Italian.

"Ciao, Alfredo. And- just be careful while you're on the road, idiot, I don't want to have to pay the hospital bill, dammit.", Lovino's voice softened.

"Honey, I'm always careful!", he replied playfully. He heard the Italian chuckle slightly before cutting the call and snatching his motorcycle's keys from the key rack hanging beside their calendar. The American carefully placed his new manuscript into the bag and attached his iPhone to his carrier clipped securely to the hem of his pants. He yawned as the last of his fatigue left and beamed brightly at his reflection in the mirror of their living room. He set out with his bomber jacket on his person and his trusty glasses clean of smudges and dust.

* * *

This wasn't normal, but considering nothing had ever been normal to begin with since he became a nation (since his birth) that he should have at least become accustomed to certain events like this. Spain could only watch the chaos of that was the first day of the World Meeting rage on from an argument on their respective countries trades and the solution for global warning turn into an all out war on whose cuisine and language was superior. He continued to beam brightly at the scene but as the minutes passed, the smile also receded. This was stupid, why was he even here again? He had better things to do than waste his precious time for something this insignificant and controversial.

Spanish-the language and cuisine were obviously way better than the rest of the world.

"I'm gonna head out and grab something to eat. Do you want to come, Belgium?", he asked. The blonde and emerald eyed young woman beside him shook her head and smiled apologetically.

"I have to be around for my brother. He's not in his right mind at the moment. I hope you have a nice lunch.", Belgium replied. Spain nodded politely before waving good-bye and heading out of the U.N. building.

The streets of Washington, D.C. were confusing to say the least. Spain was pretty sure that he had already gone through this alley to get to the café he had ventured to the last time he was country of passion huffed in frustration as he came to yet another dead end. He wondered how America had gotten around this place with so many pedestrians trying to plow their way through to make it to work on time or how they also dragged you away from your destination at times. Not to mention how rude they were when you so much as bumped into them.

Spain really didn't have time for this. He needed to get down to research and finding _him_ and said nation and he was starving. Which means he wouldn't be able to think straight and thus he'll never find those two to calm the others' nerves and his own. He'd be a failure of a boss to his beloved 'underlings'. The nation barely processed the muscular shoulder graze his clavicle or the sensation of falling onto his rump. Spain winced when he finally felt his bottom numb in slight pain from the impact and felt grateful when a young man lifted him onto his feet.

"Hey! You alright? That was a pretty nasty fall you had there.", a familiar voice asked in concern. Spain stared at his dirty khakis and brushed off the debris that stayed. The young man crouched down to pick up his fallen briefcase and wipe some dirt from its brown lather surface. A jingle of keys sounded as the fellow tucked them into his pale cyan jeans pocket.

"Nah, I'm okay. _Gracias, amigo_. Um, hey, I don't suppose you know where Leslie's Café is?", Spain asked in curiosity. The guy sounded American so he should probably know, right? He glanced up from his pants to face the stranger, glanced back down and then up again. His emerald eyes widening further and his mouthing hung open in shock and astonishment. The young man; a cerulean eyed, blonde with rectangular, wire framed glasses perched on his nose, began to ramble as he briefly checked his cell phone for the time.

"Yeah, of course I do! I usually go over to pick up some takeout for me and Lovino. Er-I mean Lovino and I. You just head further down this street till you see-", the young man paused. His head tilted slightly and a blonde brow arched up in confusion. He tucked the phone back into his carrier and stepped forward to wave a pale hand before his face.

This wasn't possible. This just wasn't and couldn't be possible, not with all-Spain just couldn't believe it, after all this time of searching and hitting too many dead ends to count only for him to be here this whole time? With his Lovino? His best friend/underling/ex-colony? His face became pained as he felt guilt, longing, and desperation flare in his chest and churn uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you sure you're alright? Hey, snap out of it! Did you hit your head on the way down or did he hit you harder than I expected?" The last sentence held worry as the blonde's brows furrowed as the nation continued to gape and stare, in what the blonde could possibly interpret, in horror. He felt the blonde grab onto his wrist in minutes and drag him down the street to the bakery he had previously asked about. His body going on autopilot as he soon found his arm occupying his suitcase and the same blonde clutching onto his wrist with an armful of bakery take-out. The nation's eyes instantly landed onto the large white structures of the hospital building before them as he was hurriedly rushed inside towards pediatrics. A male secutary shot up from his seat of the pediatrics division's desk in alarm at the sight of two disheveled men running through the set of glass doors.

"Where are you going with that man, Alfre-?"

"No time! Gotta see, Dr. Vargas! Bye!", the blonde replied hurriedly. Spain tried to keep up with the blonde,_ America_, as they headed down a corridor of hospital rooms to an office with a metal plate labeled Conference Room. America yanked open the door by the knob and entered with Spain in tow to see a short brunette hunched over a medical chart of what the nation could momentarily assume was of a past or present patient. He almost took a double take when a familiar face glanced up from his work, only to drop his mechanical pencil and chart from his hand, to gape slightly at them. The only blonde of the small group chuckled as he dropped Spain's wrist to beam at the shorter brunette.

"I brought him over so you could check up on him. I think he has a concussion, 'Vino."

"_Ro-Romano_? _E-Estados U-Unidos_?", he managed to say. Spain watched _Romano_ raise a brow at him and incline his head to _America_.

"I think you broke him on the way here, bastard."

* * *

_A/N: I decided to change up the 'discovery' portion of this chapter. Sorry, but I re-read it and decided I didn't like the way I had it. It sorta gets boring after a while when England's the one finding out what's going on to begin with and then the story progressing from there. Don't get me wrong, they turn out pretty damn good, but I want some variety in my life. And I improved the summary to make sense while I posted this back up. Le sigh~_

_(Spanish)_

_Gracias, amigo. - Thanks, friend. _

_Estados Unidos- United States._


	2. Author's Note

_I am planning this to go on haitus or delete this story due to complications with the current plot that's, unfortunately, been plaguing me for sometime now. I'll probably be back on this story at some point and probably turn the ideas I've recently had over in my head, revise it, and hopefully stick to its course once I've got it back on. And hopefully permanently next time. _

_I'm the type of person who would do this, though I feel somewhat 'like a bastard' as Romano would quote, but I guess that's just my perfectionism taking it's hold over me. Maybe this'll teach me how to plan better. _

_Thank you for staying and taking your time to read 'Fragments' and I hope you guys would still be interested in its, well, third installment.  
_

_Sincerely, _

_House O' Bones_


End file.
